


Spice

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House gets jealous over Javier Bardem.  Possessive caveman sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spice

 

 

 

“No. She has no history of seizure disorder,” Chase was saying to Taub. Or maybe to Adams. Or possibly Park. House had lost track of which idiotic idea belonged to which idiot.

He was too consumed with peering through the conference room blinds, watching some player in a lab coat get way too close to _his_ player in a lab coat—who was currently doing that charming-smile thing House thought he’d banned.

“What’s the deal with Dr. Hair Gel? Any of you know him?”

Getting no response, House turned to see his team gazing at him wearily. “Problem?” he inquired.

Taub folded his hands on the table and smiled knowingly. “Even people with well-styled hair have the right to talk to Wilson. But you know whose hair looks really bad today? Our patient’s.”

“You’re wrong,” House said, jabbing his cane in Taub’s direction. “Attractive people are required to stay a football field’s distance away from him. That’s why I let him have lunch with you but not Chase.”

“Is he allowed to have lunch with me?” Park asked, actually looking interested in the answer.

“No,” House said as he made for the door. “But that’s just because you’re annoying. Carry on.”

Chase started to say something—probably about their case, knowing him—but House was already in the corridor. Wilson was now walking toward his own office, and Dr. McDouche was getting on the elevator.

House got a pretty good look at his face before the doors closed. The son of a bitch looked like Javier Bardem, or one of those other brooding-yet-yearning-for-love assholes of cinema.

House made a beeline for Wilson’s office, slowing to a casual limp before opening the door. Wilson was taking off his lab coat as House ambled in and wordlessly plopped down on the couch.

“Hey,” Wilson said, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “What’s up?”

House shrugged. “You ready for lunch?”

Wilson did his “I’m confused” thing and looked at his watch. “It’s not even 10:30.”

“I know. I haven’t eaten in, like, two hours.”

“That’s heart-wrenching,” Wilson said, sitting down at his desk. “But sorry, I have to get some paperwork done before my appointments this afternoon.”

House fixed him with a stare, even though Wilson was busy opening his laptop, grabbing pens and taking other administrative-type actions. When House finally spoke, he kept his tone neutral.

“Funny. You seem to have plenty of time for chit-chat in the hallways.”

Wilson’s pen paused in mid-air. After a moment he looked up, with a small, wry smile. “Ah. You saw me talking to Dr. Laracuente.”

“ _Laracuente,_ ” House said, with an exaggerated accent and a Flamenco hand clap. “What were you two talking about? Are you still learning Spanish?”

“Nooo,” Wilson said, pushing a file aside. “He needed a consult.”

“Oh, on what? The fit of his pants? Because your eyes were definitely wandering to his _el crotcho._ ”

“Uh, you’re _loco._ Seriously, I don’t have time for this.”

House stretched his arms along the back of the couch. “I hate to get repetitive, but I have to point out that you had plenty of time for Javier.”

“His name’s Rick.”

“Ah-ha!” House leaned forward and aimed a triumphant index finger at Wilson. “You know his first name.”

“Often, people identify themselves before asking for a favor.”

“A favor?”

“As in _consult._ ” Wilson sighed and shook his head. “House, I’m used to the jealousy when you see me with a woman. Are you really gonna start getting jealous over men now that we’re…” He flapped a hand, in what was presumably Wilsonian sign language for “doin’ the nasty.”

House squinted. “I have always gotten jealous when you spend time with other guys.”

Wilson looked into the distance, apparently pondering that. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you have…OK, well, I can’t only interact with unattractive co-workers.”

“That _was_ our deal, though.”

Wilson wagged an index finger. “No, no. I agreed to that post-orgasm. And remember? We said no more attempts at manipulation within an hour of sex. It’s not fair.”

House screwed up his face. “We actually said something like that? That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Yes. The unattractive-co-worker agreement was declared null and void.” Wilson sliced a hand through the air for emphasis.

“Why don’t I remember this? Wait. Was I post-orgasm?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wilson insisted. “You cannot control who I talk to at work, House. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow and held House’s gaze. House had a few choice responses on the tip of his tongue, but he knew any one of them could result in a prolonged sexual drought.

“Fine,” he said, before pushing to his feet and limping to the door. Once there, he turned around. “Bear in mind,” he said ominously, “that means you can’t tell me who to talk to, either.”

“House,” Wilson said in a low voice. “Don’t you dare bother Rick.”

“Ohhh, I’m not gonna bother him,” House assured, syrupy sweet, before shutting the door and adding, “I’m gonna destroy him.”

 

*******

 

As it turned out, House didn’t have time to seek and destroy; his patient interfered by suffering another seizure, along with a profuse nosebleed.

House got the husband to cough up the vital little fact that his wife had been having nosebleeds on and off for some time. They’d been attributing it to her allergies and hadn’t thought it bore mentioning.

_Idiots._

Now House was looking for Wilson, ready to dazzle him with his diagnosis (pending genetic tests) of Osler-Weber-Rendu—the syndrome that sounds like a law firm, as Wilson was sure to say.

If House could locate him.

Having found Wilson’s office door locked, he checked the cafeteria, then badgered Sandy, all to no avail. Finally, House tried the oncology lounge, where he did indeed discover Wilson…comfortably settled on the couch with Rico Suave, M.D.

“Oh, heyyy!” House chirped, causing both men to turn around.

Wilson closed his eyes as Rico smiled and stood up. “Dr. House,” he said, extending a hand.

House limped forward but ignored the hand, in favor of staring at its owner. Rico’s smile faded. “Oh, sorry. I’m Ricardo Laracuente, from Ortho. Obviously, I already know who you are, Dr. House…Your reputation precedes you.”

House sniffed. “And your cologne precedes you. Dr. Wilson isn’t a fan of that particular brand. You’ll have to try again.”

Rico laughed awkwardly. “I, uh…”

“Rick, don’t mind Dr. House,” Wilson broke in. “He hasn’t been sleeping well, and—”

“Because of the ridiculous amounts of sex that Dr. Wilson and I have—”

“As I was saying,” Wilson interjected, “Dr. House hasn’t been sleeping well, and he’s a jackass. A tired jackass.”

Rico Suave looked bewildered. “OK,” he said, taking a step back from House. “Do you two need some time—”

“Yes,” House said, as Wilson said, “No.”

“OK,” Rico said again.

Wilson sighed. “I’m sorry, Rick. Please, sit down and let’s finish. He eventually goes away if you ignore him.”

Dr. Suave nodded uncertainly before sitting. House promptly took a seat next to him. When his two couch mates looked at him, he shrugged. “I _eventually_ go away.”

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose before refocusing.

“OK,” he said calmly. “Like I was saying, Ewing sarcoma is very unlikely. I didn’t see any lesions, and Ewing lesions are almost always visible on plain X-ray. Honestly? Look at her weight. I think the bone broke so easily because she’s so underweight—possibly anorexic.”

“Sounds good,” House said.

Rico nodded and scratched at an eyebrow. “Yeah. I, uh, guess I was reaching for the rarer possibility.” He gave an embarrassed little laugh.

House tapped his cane on the floor. “Well,” he said cheerfully, “I guess that ends your needless consult with Dr. Wilson.”

Rico turned to him, losing some of the cool façade. “I may have misjudged the situation. That’s never happened to you, Dr. House?”

“I’m pretty good at judging situations,” House assured him.

“Oh-kay,” Wilson sing-songed, rising to his feet. “Rick, let me know if I can be of any other help.”

Suave stood up and shook Wilson’s hand. “Thanks, James. Sorry to waste your time.”

“Not at all. This is my job.”

House silently mimicked him, behind Rico’s back but well within Wilson’s sight.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. House,” Rico mumbled as he headed out, not bothering with eye contact.

House remained silent, gazing at Wilson, who just crossed his arms and turned on his sad puppy eyes.

“Can you believe that guy?” House said, hooking a thumb toward the door.

He braced himself for a Wilson-sized dose of what-for. But it didn’t come. Wilson simply shook his head then walked out.

House stayed where he was, bouncing his cane and wondering how much trouble he was in. Then he noticed the remote and remembered the oncology lounge had Tivo. He decided to camp out for a while.

 

*******

 

“Oh God, House,” Wilson gasped as House’s mouth nearly engulfed him. “Um— _God_ —S-slow down or—” He let out a shaky laugh.

But House was barely paying him any mind. He was a man on a mission, armed with some well-lubed fingers. And one of those fingers was already snaking its way to its goal. Wilson arched and moaned, grabbing House’s hair none too gently. But again, House only vaguely registered it.

“House,” Wilson breathed. “Really. Slow down…I—Oh, _fuck._ ” He bucked as House added a second finger and began to work his mouth double-time.

Wilson’s grip in House’s hair tightened. “House,” he said, in greater possession of his voice. “I mean it. I can’t…”

House reluctantly released Wilson’s cock. “What? You need to make out first? OK.”

He heard a hiss as he slipped his fingers free, then began to quickly, if somewhat awkwardly, nip his way up Wilson’s body. He paused to bite down on a nipple—with a bit too much enthusiasm, if Wilson’s “Ow! _House_ ” was any indication.

Still, based on the quivering, writhing body below him, House could tell that Wilson was a lot more excited than annoyed about this extra level of aggression. He couldn’t help a smug smile from forming as he mouthed Wilson’s neck.

And he just couldn’t resist moving his lips to Wilson’s ear and whispering, in an appalling Spanish accent, “You don’t need no Latin lover.”

Wilson instantly tensed. “What?” he said breathlessly.

_Uh-oh._

“ _No importa,_ ” House insisted, then tried to shove his tongue into Wilson’s mouth.

But the slippery bastard wriggled away. “Oh, it’s _importa,_ ” Wilson said, pushing House off of him.

House groaned as he flopped onto his back. “You cannot be serious. I was about to blow your mind—among other things.”

“ _I_ can’t be serious?” Wilson almost squeaked, raising himself onto his elbows. His hair was comically askew in several places, detracting considerably from his stern expression.

“Oh, please,” House scoffed. “Don’t give me your offended routine. You were definitely not complaining when I pushed you down and started ravaging you.”

Wilson blinked. “Yes, because I was under the delusion that you actually wanted me that badly. I didn’t realize you were just trying to prove a point—one that doesn’t have to be made, by the way.”

Wilson shook his head. “I should’ve known. Ever since we got home you’ve been pawing at me like Pepé Le Pew.”

House sneered. “Right. And you’re just the blushing ingénue skunk. Admit it. You were loving it.”

As he said the words, House felt an odd mix of self-righteousness and…disappointment.

The combination of age, chronic pain and Vicodin meant he was often slow to rise to the occasion in bed. He liked to kid himself that Wilson didn’t mind—that he didn’t wish they could have a fast and furious fuck more than every now and then.

But it wasn’t really true. Wilson did want more than House could give him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Wilson’s voice startled him a little. “And you can stop.”

“Oh, you read minds now, Carnac? Wait. Sorry—you’ve always thought you possess that ability.”

Wilson sighed tiredly. “By now I do know something about the labyrinth of your mind. For some reason, you think I’m interested in Dr. Laracuente—”

“You mean Rick?”

“—And you’ve decided to prove that I don’t need him by being a beast in bed. Very caveman. Oh, and very insulting that you think I’ll stray for the first strapping guy with good hair.”

“Well, you do have a history of getting bored and wandering.” Even as he said it, House knew he was flirting with disaster. But he didn’t quite have the will to stop himself.

Wilson gave him a murderous glare. “Are you equating yourself to my ex-wives?”

House matched his glare.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Wilson went on, “we’ve lasted for twenty years. The times I’ve…needed a break had nothing to do with boredom. You’ve never bored me.”

House paused to look at his manipulative bitch in admiration. “Nice covert compliment there. But I know what’s up. You could’ve talked to _Rick_ over the phone yesterday. Yet you had a little meeting in the oncology lounge, where you thought I wouldn’t see you.”

Wilson sat up all the way and grabbed his own hair in frustration. “We did not have a secret rendezvous. I was going to call him, but he came looking for me. Sandy told him I was in the lounge.”

House spared a couple seconds to consider how he could seek revenge on Sandy, but then refocused on the matter at hand.

“Well, don’t you see what he’s doing? A phone call would’ve done the job. But he wanted face time. Or more likely, ass time.”

Wilson rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “House?” he said, keeping his eyes covered. “Even if that’s true, what does it matter?” Wilson dropped his hands and looked at him. “I’m not interested.”

“Not yet,” House muttered.

Wilson stared at him for a few seconds before getting up and moving toward the dresser. House watched him put on pajama pants and a t-shirt, feeling like he should try to say something to repair the damage. But the actual words weren’t occurring to him.

Wilson walked away in silence. Again.

 

*******

 

Wilson managed to continue the silent treatment for two days. It was a feat, House knew, that caused Wilson great pain, since he had quite the vocabulary and liked to use it. That knowledge made House feel a little better.

If he were honest, though, he’d admit that as much as he enjoyed a lecture-free home, he missed Wilson’s voice. But he’d rather punch himself in the face than admit to something so lame, even in his head.

So when House found himself barreling into Wilson’s office on Day Three, he tried not to think about the reasons.

“I need your opinion on a case,” House announced without preamble.

Wilson looked up from his laptop. “Is it the case of your misplaced suspicion?”

“Yeah, Nancy Drew. Can you help me?”

Wilson sat back in his chair and bit his lip. “Is this really a consult?”

House dropped into one of the chairs in front of Wilson’s desk. He bobbed his head side to side. “I might be pulling a Laracuente. That’s Spanish for ‘phony consult with an ulterior motive.’”

Wilson smiled wryly, but then looked down and seemed to hesitate. “Well,” he said, tapping his fingers on his desk, “it, uh, turns out you were partly right.”

House furrowed his brow. “Only partly?”

Wilson nodded, keeping his eyes on his desk. “Dr. Laracuente asked me to have a drink with him tonight.” He glanced at House. “At first, I thought he meant just, y’know, two guys getting a beer.”

House rolled his eyes.

“But,” Wilson went on, “he meant a…date.” He said it as if it were the most mystifying concept imaginable.

“How could you not know that?” House scolded, leaning forward in his chair. “The guy was obviously scoping you out.”

Wilson held up his hands. “I’ve never been hit on by a guy—Well, not since med school anyway.”

“Oh, come on. I hit on you every day.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“And there is no way you haven’t been hit on by a guy in the past twenty years,” House informed him. “You’re just blind to it. As soon as we came out, the male nursing staff started falling all over themselves to _scrub in_ with you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” House grouched, waving a hand. Then a thought hit him. “Wait. So how am I only partly right?”

Wilson exhaled a laugh. “Of course that’s the detail you zero in on.” He leaned forward. “You were, and are, wrong about me. I’m not interested in Laracuente. For reasons that are unclear to me, I’m only interested in you.”

House felt a smile coming on, so he scowled. “You know what this means, don’t you? I have to take Laracuente down.”

“Oh no, no, no.” Wilson waved his hands like he was guiding planes to an aircraft carrier. “I turned him down. No further action required.”

“What do you mean?” House demanded. “He knows we’re living together and he still asked you out. That’s a naked act of aggression toward me—and it implies he thinks you’re a slut, I might add.”

Wilson frowned, but a moment later shook his head. “No. House, let it go. You can’t afford to get into any more trouble around here. Or anywhere.”

“I’d use clandestine means—”

“ _No._ ”

Wilson then abruptly switched tactics. “House,” he said, lowering his voice and very nearly batting his eyelashes. “Speaking of naked acts of aggression…Wouldn’t you rather go home early and…”

“What?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Install new window treatments. What do you think?”

“I know what you mean.” House grinned lasciviously. “I just wanted to make you talk dirty at work.”

Wilson smirked as he shut down his laptop. “C’mon. I can work on this later at home. And I presume you have no actual case?”

“Just a case of the hots for you.”

Wilson cringed. “God, you make me sick sometimes.”

“Luckily, I’m a doctor,” House said, pushing to his feet.

He caught Wilson smiling a little as he led the way out the door.

 

*******

 

“ _God,_ House.”

“I…answer to either,” House said breathlessly.

Wilson grabbed either side of his head and yanked him down for a sloppy kiss. When they broke for air, he shamelessly arched his neck so House could access the sweet spot that always turned Wilson into a babbling mess.

House obliged, and the wanton moan he got in response went straight to his groin, causing him to thrust a little harder than he thought possible. He was, apparently, the Little Engine That Could.

“You,” Wilson panted, “sure are…energetic today.”

House took a moment to catch his breath. “My Latin rival…has pushed me to excel.”

“Hmmm,” Wilson hummed. He ran his nails down House’s back before roughly grabbing his ass to encourage him in deeper. House groaned at a volume he thought should be embarrassing. But he really couldn’t give a fuck.

“Y’know,” Wilson breathed into his ear, “I…didn’t tell the truth before, in my office. N-nurse Jeffrey once grabbed my ass.”

House, whose brain had been shorting out, suddenly felt more lucid. “What?” he demanded, lifting his head from Wilson’s shoulder. “When?”

“Um…right after you told the nursing staff you’re— _Guh_ —doing me. He just…” Wilson firmly squeezed House’s ass in demonstration.

“ _Ahhh_ …That little prick.”

Wilson swept his hands up House’s back again, then pulled him down to mouth along that sensitive area between his neck and shoulder. “And you know…Andre in the ICU?” Wilson asked between kisses.

House tensed a little. “Of course not.”

“Well,” Wilson said, his hot breath making House’s skin tingle. “He offered me a private massage in my office—”

“What the hell?” House halted the proceedings to pull Wilson’s hands off him and pin his wrists on either side of his head. “Why are you just telling me about this? Now I have a hit list to compile.”

Wilson started to smile. And House noticed he was offering no resistance to the weight holding him down. _Huh._

“And then just the other day,” Wilson continued, eyes innocent, “Lou the janitor walked up and licked my neck.”

House just stared for a moment, a bit embarrassed at being so slow on the uptake. He blamed the reduced blood flow to his head.

“Well,” he said, suppressing a smile, “he has always been a friendly janitor.”

House tightened his grip on Wilson’s wrists and began to thrust again, even more emphatically than before. “But I do think I need to put my foot down here. Don’t you?” He leaned in to find that spot on Wilson’s neck once more.

“ _Nert-gif,_ ” Wilson gasped, arching his chest.

“No one— _ahhh_ —grabs your ass but me,” House laid down the law. “The janitorial staff does not lick your neck. _Comprende?_ ”

Wilson tossed his head to the side, uttering a “ _Blurgen_ ” into the pillow.

“And no one…gives you office massages. Me included— _Fuck._ Wilson, _god._ ”

House released a wrist so he could reach between them and begin to jerk Wilson roughly.

“ _House,_ ” Wilson almost sobbed. “Yes, like that…Please.”

At the sound of that plea, House felt a familiar heat gathering in the bottom of his belly. Moments later he was coming harder than he had in recent memory. And from what he could feel and hear beneath him, the same was true for Wilson.

They both lay panting for some time. House knew his thigh, still on the pillow they’d used to support it, would exact retribution the next morning. They normally picked positions and activities that were easier on his leg, but House had been feeling extra…intense when they’d arrived home.

Wilson trailed his fingertips up and down House’s spine. When he could finally speak, he offered only a dazed-sounding, “Wow.”

“Yep,” House agreed, his head still buried in Wilson’s neck.

“Hmmm, come on.” Wilson rubbed his back. “Move so I can go run the bath…You’ll regret it if you don’t soak your leg. And so will I.”

“Pass my pills,” House mumbled, not budging.

Wilson did as asked, then nudged him. “C’mon. You’ll be glad once you’re relaxing in the tub.”

House let out a geriatric-sounding grunt as he rolled onto his back.

“So,” he said to the ceiling, “I know I was beyond amazing just now…But I hope you’re not expecting possessive animal sex on a regular basis. It’s a little too much work.” He hoped Wilson detected the apology underneath the snark.

House heard him sigh heavily, and for a moment his gut clenched.

After a beat, though, Wilson said, “Thank god. I couldn’t handle a steady diet of that.”

House looked at him and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Wilson raised two in response. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not twenty-five anymore, either. My back is already bitching.”

House didn’t bother to fight back a grin, though he did return his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, I’ve noticed. You’re gonna need a more supportive bra pretty soon.”

“Mmm. We’ll go shopping.” Wilson heaved himself to his feet. “Christ,” he griped like an 80-year-old, before shuffling toward the bathroom.

House turned to watch his ass, which did not at all resemble an 80-year-olds’.

“Hey,” he called before Wilson disappeared. “You made up the stuff about Nurse Jeffrey, and Lou, and…whoever. Just to get me worked up.”

“Uh, yeah. I thought that was obvious.”

“So did Laracuente really ask you out?”

Wilson leaned against the doorjamb and looked at him. “Of course. I wouldn’t lie about that. I just…took advantage of it.” He looked down and gave an awkward little laugh. “You’re, um, quite something when you’re possessive.”

House swore he could see Wilson’s cheeks flushing from halfway across the dimly lit room.

“I’m quite something in general,” he corrected.

“Of course,” Wilson conceded. “And way hotter than Laracuente, I might add.”

House hesitated; he hated being played. “Uh-huh,” he said suspiciously.

“Really,” Wilson straightened up. “He looks like Javier Bardem,” he added, wrinkling his nose.

House sat up on his elbows. “You don’t think he’s hot?”

“Not really. I—” Wilson paused, a sly smile forming. “House. Are you a…fanboy?”

“No,” House said, probably too sharply. “I’m just a good judge of hot.”

Wilson smirked. “Can’t argue with that. Javier’s OK,” he acquiesced as he turned away. “But I’m partial to blue eyes.”

Wilson shut the door before House could mock him. The elusive bitch.

House lay back and closed his eyes. It was fine; he could let Wilson get the last word sometimes. And he could live with being better than Bardem.

 

_\--End_

 

 **Note:** Title inspired by the Maya Angelou quote: _Jealousy in romance is like salt in food. A little can enhance the savor, but too much can spoil the pleasure._


End file.
